In Memoriam
by Aestivate
Summary: George and Percy are left stranded in holes they can’t get out of after Fred’s death. Can they dig themselves out of their hole of self despair, even though they know life without Fred is on the other side?


**In Memoriam**

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By,

Aestivate

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Summary: George and Percy are left stranded in holes they can't get out of after Fred's death. Can they dig themselves out of their hole of self-despair, even though they know life without Fred is on the other side? 

Author's Note: Harry Potter and characters belongs to the sole property of J.K. Rowling, and is © to her. I do not intend to sell, reproduce, or do anything illegal with this fanfic.

.. This was EXTREMELY difficult to write, but I felt it necessary when I read how easily Fred was murdered, and how I felt for George and his gaping loss.

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_Seven, the most magical, the most hailed number of them all couldn't have compared to two_, George Weasley thought bitterly. 

Grief poured in him as they lowered his brother's casket to the ground. It burned his insides and thrived, a dragon or a phoenix or something with fire magic bursting to flame within him. He chewed on the inside of his mouth, vaguely aware of the metallic taste of blood makings itself aware in his mouth. He stared blankly, expressionlessly at the box that his brother was lying in; Fred Weasley's final resting place.

George bit on the inside of his mouth with renewed vigor while men around him were waving their wands and having the dirt fall over the casket. They were doing it with care, respect, and from the corner of his eye, George could see his older brother Percy, his face contorted in concentration, trying to position the dirt so that Fred could at least some dignity. Percy's horn-rimmed glasses were hanging off his left ear, and with a pang, George remembered that he could have been laughing with his twin, his other half, about it... When Fred was alive, of course. But George couldn't find mirth in Percy's comical expression, rather, what he felt on the inside. After all, Percy had survived the Death Eater attack while Fred had not, and they were together during Fred's death, after just reconciling, too...

Despite his efforts to remain stoic, George's eyes began to burn. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, crying, and he was glad he only had one ear, because his mother was standing on the side of George that had a gaping hole, rather than an ear. He rubbed it, in an effort to stay in control, feeling through the fleshy nothingness, remembering countless times where his twin would bend over and mutter something in his ear and they would laugh about it afterwards.

Fred was the take-charge half, but he, like George's ear, like George's other half, was gone.

Muffled, although they were moreso than what they could have been, were Molly Weasley's anguished cries. It was hard to believe that it was merely two days ago that the hero, Harry Potter had vanquished Voldemort, but now, honoring deaths, was not the time to celebrate. George had allowed himself to get lost in the moment, drunk and elated with fire whiskey, but now he was quite sober and very much alone. Awake to mourn the death of his twin.

"N-n-no!" cried Molly, as men were turning away, after they had finished paying their respects. "My son," she wailed. She dropped to her into the soft mulch on top of the coffin and, like when she was crying over the lifeless body of Fred, was atop the soil like she had been atop his still chest.

George watched, in silent horror, as his mother dirtied herself and allowed herself to be covered in filth. His father and brothers Charlie and Percy were trying to pull her up, but in vain. Percy's glasses had finally fallen off, but he did not look as if he'd noticed nor cared. Charlie and Arthur finally succeeded in lifting the sobbing Molly away from the mound of dirt, and were trying hard as they could to lead her away. Their expressions were grim and gloomy, Fred's death looming over them.

"Th-they shouldn't have fought! If I was a b-b-b-b-better mother and m-m-made him stay behind, maybe he wouldn't have..." She couldn't say anymore, and was overcome by a huge, wracking sob.

And George couldn't bear to hear it anymore. It was extremely comical, watching Mrs. Molly Prewett Weasley tripping over herself and stumbling, despite the combined efforts of her husband and second youngest son, and with Percy hovering over them anxiously, his glasses having found their place on the bridge of his nose.

She was humiliating herself, and for some reason, George was the only one who thought it so. Lee Jordan, one his best friends, looked at him curiously, seeing the light go up in George's murky brown eyes. They seemed murkier than ever today, sadness dimming the characteristic mischievousness that was the light and soul of both George and his brother. It was ludicrous to George that Fred, who was his closest companion, the one who shared the same DNA as him, the co-founder of a joke shop with him the other co-founder, the one who he confided to about his doubts about surviving when they were in hiding those last few months, broadcasting Potterwatch. It was Fred that George was truly himself around, and now that he was gone, George didn't know where Fred had ended, walking out of his life and the lives of everyone they were close with, by merely upholding the Gryffindor glory.

"You idiot..." George muttered.

Lee Jordan stirred beside him, looking at George in alarm.

"Not you, Lee," said George, not looking at his dread-locked companion, and instead, knelt at the grave of his dead brother. The mourners that were around George moved to other areas of Godric's Hollow, towards the freshly dug graves that would soon house Remus John Lupin and his wife, Nymphadora Tonks. They were good people that died too young, but George, for the moment, could not bring himself to care. They at least had their lives to live with each other. The only amount of experience Fred had had was taking Angelina Johnson to the Yule ball four years ago, and enjoying some time with Fleur's veela cousins at Fleur and Bill's wedding. Fred hadn't fallen in love, lived his life, nor had he passed on his legacy like Tonks and Lupin did, with their one son, Teddy.

And George found this comical, despite the heavy weight that consumed his chest, and left him gasping for breath.

"Listen, George..." murmured Lee. "I'm going to leave you two alone. I want to pay my respects to Lupin and Tonks." Lee Jordan, Fred and George's oldest, dearest friend, clapped George's shoulder and turned his heel. "Say goodbye to 'Rapier' for me."

"Why can't you tell him?" George's voice was higher than normal, and he had to choke down both sobs and roaring laughter.

But Lee had already gone. George was alone, just him and his brother, so comical that George was sure he was going to burst out laughing and never stopping, rather than crying, wishing that his brother would send for his spirit and take George with him. George knelt onto the disturbed earth, hoping for the latter.

"Where do the dead go, my brother?" George could not bring himself to say Fred's name. "You're probably more holy than I am holey..." That did it. George began laughing, loud raucous laughter, his side stitching instantly. He doubled over in pain, tears streaming into his eyes, wild, maniacal laughter coming from his throat... he did not know how to stop it, and wondered if the pain in his sides were enough to kill him, to bring him to his brother... He was positive that Fred had possessed him, laughing all the laughter that they were going to miss together, as co-founders of a joke shop, as brothers, as twins... And since they were supposed to laugh with each other forever, he no longer wished for the laughter to stop, but for it to never end... _Yes, my brother. This is how it should be._

And George was on the ground now, lying atop the earth, by far more comical than what his mother had been doing before, he was staring up into the sky, the murky color of the clouds, ominous of rain, the similar murkiness of his eyes... And yet laughter still erupted from him, the dragon or whatever crazy fire-producing magical creature in his navel seemed to have combusted, spreading through him and snowballing...

"Hahaha, snowballs..." The very thought made George laugh even harder, for how could snowballs grow in such heat? George was burning, burning for the loss of his brother, unsure of what to do now, where his life stood. His life was here, and Fred's life was not...

And then his laughing turned into sobs. Huge, wracking, breath-stealing sobs. George didn't pay much attention to it, after all, if he could laugh with his twin, he could certainly cry with him... But then inexplicable rage replaced the mischievousness, and George rolled over, lifting himself and began pounding the soft earth, not caring that his hands were now too dirty to wipe away the tears that were obscuring his vision; they didn't matter, as they were streaming out of his so quickly anyway...

"You - idiot!" With each pause, he pounded. "Why - did you have to - leave me - here?" And then George was plagued by a sudden shooting pain in his already hurting stitches, and sank, fast first. He stayed there, in the cool soil until he needed his breath; that was involuntary, how much he wanted to sink away and join his twin... Fred, the take-charge twin, always the one that thought up of ideas. And George, the more humane, the more docile twin, completed the devilish duo. They were both intelligent, but they both had rolls. Fred would always think and act before thinking, George would reprimand him and offer his own insight. But being twins, they never disagreed for too long. And there was George, left to pick up the pieces of their joke shop, now he had to make the ideas, step out of the shadow of supporting his brother...

"Why would you do that to me, you prick? You know I'm not like you. You were always the ones with the ideas, I just provided the brains behind them. We were a pair... We were..." But George's voice broke, and pounded the dirt twice more, before succumbing to the pains that were eating at his sides and at his heart. "I'm never going to be as fucking good as you." _As us._ "You selfish prat, getting yourself killed, and when I wake up in the morning and punch your bunk, you won't be there..."

George's voice was losing strength. "You just had to... leave me behind..."

There. He said it.

For Fred and George, family jokers, where Mischief was always Managed, they never thought about solemnly swearing they were up to no good without solemnly swearing they were up to no good with each other. And now, it seemed, Molly had lost yet another set of twins, from her brothers Gideon and Fabian Prewett, to having lost George, who couldn't think of himself as a twin anymore. What the hell was a twin, when the other half didn't exist? Was gone? Dead in a rushing sound and a flash of green light?

"Fred, you selfish little..." George's voice shook as he said his twin's name, and he was frightened to do it, as if it were as taboo as Voldemort's was. Fresh tears leaked from his eyes. "Dying when I wasn't even there for it..." George was unsure he would have wanted to though, from the way Ron and Percy had described it when Fred had died, it was pretty gruesome. The way the light just sort of left Fred's eyes, and they were open and unseeing. George had seen his brother's corpse. He'd seen his brothers expression reminiscent of a laugh, his eyes murkier than George's, searching, not finding. But to actually have been there...

It was too horrible to imagine, the way the splitting image of his face (not as much recently, George thought wistfully, his hand electrifying and tingling as it tried to jerk toward the hole at the side of his face) seemed to completely lose all of its life. Fred's valor, bravery, and even his cheekiness had disappeared in the wave of a wand.

When they were little, Fred and George Weasley had made an Unbreakable Vow. They'd stolen their father's wand and grabbed Ginny, who was only two at the time, and had her hold it out in front of them, promising her they'd give her the box of Chocolate Frogs that they had worked so hard to save up for.

Actually, Fred was the one who made the promises, but there were exactly seven credentials. Seven, the mystical, most magically perfect number. Even then, at five years old, they knew that this kind of Unbreakable Vow could not be broken, using all of their cunning that their age allowed them, as to not risk losing the other. They did the Vow as a magical, official reminder that they were twins, and that they were to be inseparable.

George realized with a pang that he had broken their last vow. Fred's childish voice, laced with solemnity even though he was still small, rang in his ear. "_I vow that at the time of either of our deaths, the other twin will be holding onto his hand."_

"Then why am I still alive?" George wondered. But he shrugged that thought off. He knew the reason. George was positive he'd suffer much more alive than he would have dead... That was the consequence of breaking an unbreakable vow... To suffer... "Why couldn't it have been me?" He rubbed his lone ear, and then prodded the gaping hole at the side of his head. "I don't care, it could have been anyone."

_Just not him._

Someone echoed his thoughts back to him, "Just not him."

George sat up, feeling stiff, as though he'd lain at Fred's grave for hours. Percy wandered closer and sat next to him, and then both of them were facing Fred's headstone in Godric's Hollow, attempting to read the stained headstone. They did not speak, and there was a crushing silence between them.

FRED WEASLEY

BORN to MOLLY PREWETT WEASLEY and ARTHUR WEASLEY, 01 April, 1978

The rest of the headstone was covered in the dirt of George's and Molly's follies. He and Percy made no move to clear the headstone, even though it was quite clear that it was stained with brown dirt.

Percy turned towards George and gave a shaky laugh. "Survivor's guilt, heh?"

George said nothing. Percy must have heard George's loud, raucous laughter; George was positive that anyone within a hundred miles probably heard it. Still, he deemed Percy's attempt to lighten the mood as disrespectful and insulting to Fred's memory.

Percy took the silence for agreement, and continued, jamming his glasses up his nose. He whispered, "He should have been me."

George, too absorbed in his thoughts, hadn't heard him correctly. "Er... Sorry, Perce, but I wasn't paying attention."

Percy said, more nervously, more loudly, "It should have been me!"

George, who had been thinking the same thing at the moment, was quite taken aback. Had Percy heard him say "It could have been anyone"? Was Percy guilty for being a witness to Fred's death? "Percy," he blurted out before he could stop himself, "what in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"I was there," said Percy, attempting to compose himself by feigning nonchalance. "I was the one dueling alongside Fred. If I'd just... pushed him out of the way or something..."

By now, George's anger for Fred had cooled, and was flaring up again at his stupid, twelve O.W.L. earning brother. "You git, Percy!"

Percy jumped at George's sudden outburst. "Wha-wha...?"

"D'you honestly think Fred would want that?" George said impatiently. "Fred wouldn't have wanted that! Imagine how he would feel it if this was your funeral we were attending!"

However, George's words did not seem to faze Percy, who shot back, "Frankly, I don't think he'd be as upset."

George blinked. "You're really... a git... Percy," he said through gritted teeth. "We're brothers, dammit, closest in age if you don't count Ron. We thought you were an idiot walking out on the family to join the Ministry, having debates of that big bulbous head of yours got through the Ministry's fireplaces for work every day. We were mad that you had such little respect for Dad. And even though you've reconciled, it's obvious you don't have that much respect for this neck of the family either."

"You've been holding that in for a while," remarked Percy.

George sighed, and continued looking at his brother's headstone, and since his emotions had gone through such a tidal wave and kept changing, he was unsure of what he was feeling right now.

None of them broke the uncomfortable silence.

"George, what would Fred be doing right now?" asked Percy. "Would he hate me for not saving him when I could have? For not knocking him away as the... the... the Killing Curse..." He broke off, but was staring at George with pleading, imploring eyes. They were the same shade of blue as Ron's, Bill's and Arthur's.

"He'd laugh at you for being a git," spat George. "Yeah, having a grand old time. Fred would be laughing his ass off. But he isn't." His bitterness broke through at the last syllable.

Percy looked mollified, and the pair lapsed into silence again. "I for one," he began after a while, "wish it were me dead."

"Percy..." George rolled his eyes. "You're my damn brother. I don't want you dead any more than I wanted Fred dead. Not like I wanted you two dead at all!" said George incredulously, after Percy lifted an accusing eyebrow that went above the frames of his horn-rimmed glasses.

But George was lying, wasn't he? There was no other person he wished to be more alive than Fred right now, and hadn't he said he didn't care who replaced Fred's death? That left open space for Percy to blame himself for Fred's death; blame himself for George's internal torture. Maybe it would have been better, Fred would have known how to comfort George. If Percy had died, Fred would know what kind of attitude would be needed... How to comfort the family...

But this was reality, and this was different.

And George could not bear it.

Tears swam in his eyes again, and he shivered as if cold, and hugged himself, rubbing his arms to renew warmth and he rocked back and forth, in time to his heart beat.

_His_ heartbeat. It did not beat in time with Fred's anymore; that was replaced by an utter calm full of utter loss.

And George felt Percy's arms around him and the two of them let out a howl of pain; they had to be closer brothers now, like George and Fred had been, like how Ron and Bill were... All this missed time, and George felt empathetic as Percy's guilt washed over him, overpowering the other emotions in George that were surfacing.

George struggled with himself for a moment and said, "Did you hold his hand as he died?"

Percy broke off, and frowned. "I couldn't, you know... You heard the story. It was just so quick... And then I was kicking at him, punching him, you know, to wake him up... I couldn't believe that he was dead; he'd just been joking around with me before. And when Avada Kedavra hits you... You know..."

George hugged himself again and nodded. He'd seen his fellow comrades-in-arms perish between his eyes, and when he fought, he fought with a righteous fury that he would avenge them all.

But that was in the past...

"George, I'm sorry. I'm sorry to have done this to you, especially. Fred was obviously closer to you than any of our other family members, and I wish that it was me who died, to atone for the kind of pain I caused you and the family. I was stupid to believe that being reunited... Reconciled, I could do everything to a human being that our older brothers and Ron could do. I shouldn't have been a Gryffindor; I was just being a coward. And now look what I've done. I let my own brother die... I'm scum of the Earth, that's what I am."

He turned toward Percy and tried to smile; miraculously, it worked, he hadn't forgotten how to. And George realized that Percy was merely voicing their own mutual feelings. And like Fred would have done, George said, "Perce, you're going to continue being scum if you don't forgive yourself." George sighed. "It was war; people had to die." He could almost not let himself bring another. "Even Fred."

"But he didn't have to!" Percy protested. "It could have - should have - been me!"

"Percy, shut up! What's done is done. We can't loom in the past anymore." And he stood up, holding out his hand. "The only thing now is to look to the future." Percy took it, and the two began walking. George would have still been brooding if it weren't for Percy voicing his agony for him. But because they shared equal emotions, a new bond was for them.

Percy said, "Let's make up for lost years. Between you _and_ Fred."

George nodded solemnly. To him, this was another Unbreakable Vow. To be determined to live out his life rather than beat himself up for himself and his dear twin.

Too choked up, the brothers, who were only closest now, when tragedy left them in a dark and dense predawn, Percy and George rested their hands on the late Fred Weasley's tombstone, looking into the horizon for a brief moment, before stepping away the lonely grave to join the rest of their family.

A cloud in the shape of Fred Weasley broke apart, but the part of the cloud that was shaped like a head was grinning ear to ear, being, living.

Through Percy.

Through Ron.

Through Ginny.

Through Bill and Fleur.

Through Charlie.

Through Arthur and Molly.

And most of all...

Through George.

The wind blew away the dust on Fred Weasley's headstone, which sounded like distinctly like a roar of laughter. The words underneath the caked on dirt became visible.

FRED WEASLEY

BORN to MOLLY PREWETT WEASLEY and ARTHUR WEASLEY, 01 April, 1978

DIED May, 1998

"A valiant brother and son, one of the few optimistic snuffed lights the day the Dark Lord got the last laugh."

What an incredulous grave legend.

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_Fin._


End file.
